November 14th, 2006

The Hair!

Morning sun and rain

The light came in horizontal this morning - an orange glow sneaking in through blinds I've been meaning to replace since I first moved in nearly four years ago. The cat, more sensitive to the dawn than I, since it denotes her breakfast, wanders back and forth along the edge of the bed, not quite ready to demand food, but restless with its anticipation. For once I'm rested enough that this wakes me, and I watch her for a moment, tail waving back and forth nervously, until she notices that I'm awake and rushes to my head, purring in supplication as she rubs her head against my chin.

Raising the blinds reveals the rain is also horizontal this morning - three days of morning rain in a row now, almost always fading to blue sky shortly after I arrive at work, taunting me with the knowledge that by the time I once more leave the office it will have faded once again, this time to black. I shrug the duvet off of me, the remains of the weekend's newspapers falling to the floor - arts reviews being all my brain could take as I drifted off last night. And as I stand a single line springs from nowhere into my head, commanding me towards the computer, demanding I record it on my journal, and as I hit the power button I repeat it silently, already writing the next one impatiently as I wait for the machine to wake from its nightly hibernation - "The light came in horizontal this morning."